Blindness: Poker Face
by zharptitsa
Summary: From Elizabeth's POV meant to be a Sheir fic but has a certain amount of Sheyla...if you've read Blindness you'll probably understand where this is going.


Author's note: Standard disclaimer. Uhm….this is a sort of sequel to my story "Blindness" you might want to read that first…if only so you understand where exactly I was trying to go with that summary... Thanks to everyone who reviewed the other story…it meant a lot to me.

When I was sixteen, after weeks of begging, my father finally let me play in the monthly poker night with him and my brothers. I was made to promise I wouldn't complain if I didn't win straight away and I wouldn't bug them anymore if they decided I couldn't play again. After I wiped the floor with them, it was proclaimed that I had 'the-best-damn-poker-face-ever' and I became a permanent fixture at their game.

I'll admit that being able to bluff your opponent into folding with a full house when all you have is a pair of two's is an invaluable skill and one that has served me well in my career as a diplomat. Granted the idea is a little different; instead of just hiding expressions I have to be able to project emotions that could be completely contrary to what I'm actually feeling but the basic concept is the same. It's become essential since I've come to the Pegasus Galaxy. It's what has enabled me to lead; to sound confident and calm when I'm about to have a nervous break down.

But most importantly it has kept people from realizing that I'm in love with John Sheppard. I wonder sometimes how people don't see it. It's tearing me up so badly inside that I wonder if it can possibly NOT be written all over my face. When I see him warmth rushes through me, leaving my skin tingling and my heart racing. My eyes follow him through the gate and I can't think straight until he returns. I'm never out of sight of the gate whenever he's out there, and when he comes back hurt it's like I can't breathe. But somehow people don't see it. They didn't see me nearly breakdown outside of the puddle jumper when his heart stopped. They didn't notice how I didn't leave the infirmary till he woke. They didn't notice how I hung back as the others left desperate to have a few seconds with him myself.

They don't notice how much I depend on him. How much I rely on him. He's the only one here who's not in awe of my position. He never fails to tell me if he thinks I'm full of crap, or if I'm looking at something the wrong way. His dedication to Atlantis and its people shines through everything he does. And despite the trouble he gets us into he always has the city's best interests at heart. And I love him for it.

I've tried so many times to pinpoint when exactly I fell in love with him. Was it when I first saw him? He looked so adorably confused not knowing what was going on but still insisting that he couldn't possibly be to blame he just sat down. It might have been then. I knew that I wanted him on the expedition then certainly. Did I fall in love with him later? As he was challenging me, desperate to save the soldiers and Athosians captured by the Wraith? As I worked with him I knew him for the wonderful person that he is: loyal, intelligent, and never willing to back down. His hair and that flyboy smile certainly didn't help any. But when he gave me that jar for my birthday, I knew I loved him.

For a while I thought he might love me too, or at least be open to the possibility of an us. He seems to enjoy arguing with me, just for the arguments sake; he's always there to cheer me up and I'd swear he doesn't end up on my balcony by accident. Even when he's blatantly defying my authority he usual finds some spectacular way to make up for it. I could see a life with him when he handed me that jar.

But I was wrong; spectacularly and completely wrong. He doesn't love me. I walked into the dining hall and as I was getting my food I heard two women talking. About how they were disappointed that they wouldn't get a chance with "The Gorgeous Major Sheppard," now that he was off the market.

Looking back, I'm surprised it didn't really hurt at the time; there was nothing but shock, this horrible, confused 'huh?' I turned to see the women and then followed their gaze to land on John…and Teyla. They were eating together and both were laughing, easily and freely, like friends who've known each other forever, and then a certain kind of nothingness set in. And even though if you had asked me minutes before I would have sworn they were just friends, I could suddenly see them together. After that first shock, I began listening to rumors, and every day there was something new about Teyla and John.

I think I could have handled that, I've never put much faith in gossip, but there was just so much of it, and I realized that in all my clandestine listening I'd never once heard John and I mentioned in any context other than professional. That was when it began to hurt.

Once the nothing left and the pain started, it just kept growing. In my anguish I watched him more than usual, especially with her. They were so obviously close friends, but I could still see some of the tension that only dissipates once people are intimate. In some ways I wish they were sleeping together, I could stop hoping then.

Every time I see them together, my stomach and heart feel like there trying to meet in the middle and form one solid heavy lump in my chest and my eyes begin to burn and I have to think every happy thought I've ever had to keep from crying. Sometimes it's ok when it's just John. I'll be so happy to be with him that I forget he doesn't love me, but I always remember and then it's worse.

I've started watching Teyla, as closely as I can while still avoiding her. I think part of me is making sure she's good enough for him and that she'll never hurt him. Another part knows she is and hates her for it. And yet another part knows that I don't hate her and can't, because she's Teyla, and so genuinely nice and capable, not to mention gorgeous and one of the few people who I can really relate to in this city. And every time I see her it's a stabbing reminder of what I'm not and who I'm not with….so I've taken to avoiding her.

In some ways this situation makes me infinitely grateful for the poker face I've crafted so carefully. The humiliation that would result if people knew how deeply I loved him and the agony I was in would be more than I could stand. I could not bear to be pitied by them for my stupidity, for thinking that he loved me.


End file.
